


Indirect

by Prideaux



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prideaux/pseuds/Prideaux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Rubens's 2009 win at Valencia, he calls Felipe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indirect

Even when he's doing the victory lap, Rubens's palms are itching. He knows he should enjoy this, the satisfaction of winning that he's waited for for so very, very long but there's something that keeps pushing that to the back of his mind.

 _Did Felipe see? Was he watching?_  
It's still a blur even once he's out of the car, but it's a blur of slow motion - all he can think of is trying to get the message across somehow, even though Felipe may as well be a million miles away.

There are hands touching him, hugs and affectionate back slaps, some taps on the helmet. Never quite the right hands. The press are there, too, journalists and television cameras that for the first time in what feels like forever are focused just on him.

Rubens leans down, patting the tribute to Felipe excitedly, trying to convey something he can never quite pin down even when he's with the man, let alone through a television screen.  
 _For you. I did this for you._

Daringly he even kisses the camera - just another Rubens antic to the rest of the world, but maybe, just maybe one person might understand. At least he hopes so. They don't kiss very often, it's too risky, and normally it makes Rubens's stomach knot up with the guilty knowledge of his wife and kids.

Even on the podium he feels distracted, knows he's crying not just for the win, or for the country, but for the man. Crying with a sort of aching sense of relief that he's not had an outlet, or an excuse for until now.

The trophy is heavy in his hands, and then what seems like hours later, so is the champagne. Flashes go off wildly, a photo opportunity for people who don't even understand the true emotion behind this win. He can't stumble off the podium fast enough when it's all over, hell-bent solely on finding a phone.

No such luck.  
"Debriefing." Jock reminds him, smiling. Rubens tries to smile back, but all he feels is a crushing urgency to get to his mobile phone.  
"I... Yes, okay." There's no way of getting out of it, and after Germany, he can't afford to get on the bad side of his team again. Reluctantly he follows Jock, trying to keep up the grin that suddenly looks more anxious than pleased.

Debriefing drags. And to make it worse, Rubens can see his phone vibrating quietly where he can't reach it, constantly distracting him whenever Ross is talking about something that's probably crucially important.

When it rings for a third time he finally just asks to be excused.  
"It is most likely... Family." He says, which is not entirely untrue - Felipe is as close to family as he can get without technically being allowed to admit it. Ross doesn't look best pleased, but Rubens is already out of his seat and scrambling to answer the mobile before he can say anything.

He answers it outside, ducking out of earshot of anyone that might happen to wander past.  
"I'm sorry... Debriefing... Sorry..." He murmurs apologetically, quietly, slipping back into his own language; into their own language.  
"It's okay. Don't worry," Felipe is laughing, just like old times, and suddenly Rubens feels the elation of the win come rushing back to him. "You did amazingly today. I'm proud."

"Did you see it?" Rubens demands urgently, lowering his voice.  
"The race..? I just said--"  
"No. On the cameras. It was all for you." He sounds almost embarrassed, talking faster than normal.  
"For me?"  
"That win. It was for you, I wouldn't have made it otherwise," Still the rapid, mumbled tone that means Felipe will know that there's a blush crawling up the back of his neck.

"Thank you."  
"You're welcome."  
"No, for everything, Rubens. You deserved that win today, for the way you've been these past weeks - you're fantastic." There's a smile in Felipe's voice that makes his skin crawl in a way that's nothing but good.  
"You're still welcome."

"You've got to go, though - Ross is going to be pissed off if you interrupted debriefing - which I know you did." There's no use trying to lie to Felipe, especially not right now, so Rubens just makes a half hearted noise that dies away in his throat.  
"Can I call you later?"  
"Of course. Go! Don't get sacked on my behalf!"

"... Love you." He's never said it before, but Felipe doesn't even hesitate.  
"I love you too. Go on, Rubinho." There's the nickname, and he blushes hotly, smiling.  
"Alright. Later. I'll talk to you later." He promises.

When Rubens finally slinks back into the debriefing, he knows already that he's bright red and smiling stupidly.  
"Been on the phone with your wife?" Jock asks, raising his eyebrows. Rubens shrugs non-committally.  
"I think now is the time to focus on tactics," He says finally with a polite nod towards Ross, who continues from where he left off, a little exasperatedly.

Rubens still isn't focused, he can't think about cars or KERS or Spa. But luckily, as long as he's sat there staring at Ross, no-one seems to notice.


End file.
